


Theories of Empowerment

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:29:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During their summer break from college, Kyle is frustrated with Stan's lack of commitment to their long distance relationship. He decides having sex with their childhood friends during a particularly boring afternoon will be enlightening for all parties, as long as he can explain his academic reasons for doing so while Stan watches. Stan is not having this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theories of Empowerment

Kyle is twenty when he decides he's too old for this shit. In some ways he never thought he would actually _be_ this old, either in the sense that he assumed South Park would kill him before he managed to graduate from high school or because he never thought he would feel this hopelessly ancient. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised about the latter, considering present company.  
  
"I want some fucking nachos," Cartman says for the fifth or sixth time, as if he thinks he can will the nachos to him, or annoy one of them enough to make them give in and bring him some.  
  
"Then go to Taco Bell," Stan says. He's stretched out on his bed, still in a funk because Kyle rejected his advances the night before.  
  
"It's too fucking hot," Cartman says. He's lying on the floor like a beached whale, sweating. Kyle and Kenny are sitting with their backs to Stan's bed, their legs stretched out in front of them. It's mid-July, and Cartman is right. It's too fucking hot to even think straight.  
  
"What are we _doing_?" Kyle asks, throwing his hands out. "Just sitting around talking about the weather and complaining that we don't have nachos? Who wants to eat nachos in this kind of heat, anyway? Why am I even hanging out with you guys?"  
  
"You can leave if you want," Stan says. "We're not holding you hostage."  
  
"Yes, you are," Kyle says, mostly to Stan, though he probably won't understand what Kyle is implying. He often doesn't.  
  
"Hey, Kyle," Kenny says, rolling his head toward Kyle's. "If you're really bored, you could suck my dick."  
  
"Fuck you, Kenny," Stan says, but he remains on his back, motionless, as if he's not really all that agitated. "Shut up."  
  
"He wasn't talking to you," Kyle says. "He was talking to me."  
  
"I can't listen to any more of this shit," Cartman says, but he doesn't move. He's referring to Stan and Kyle's bitchy exchanges, which have been consistent since June, when Kyle decided that letting Stan fuck him while they're home for the summer is not something a self respecting person should do, even if said person is still deeply in love with the former high school boyfriend who is using him for sex. They promised to try to stay together during college, despite the fact that Kyle goes to Virginia Tech and Stan is playing football for Arizona State. During their freshman year they decided they should have sex with other people, for the sake of truly experiencing the world, or for convenience purposes, Kyle suspects, in Stan's case. Kyle doesn't get a lot of offers. He's had only two partners other than Stan, unless he counts the boy who touched his dick at Hebrew Camp when he was thirteen. He's afraid to ask how many Stan has had, and how many of them have been men. Stan is bisexual, but he doesn't call himself that, and as far as Kyle knows Stan only dates women, with the exception of Kyle, who he doesn't date so much as fuck.  
  
"What, oh, sorry," Stan says. "I didn't mean to get in the way of you sucking Kenny's dick, Kyle. Go right ahead."  
  
"Maybe I will," Kyle says, and Stan scoffs. Kyle looks over at Kenny, who raises his eyebrows.  
  
"It's been called a work of art," Kenny says.  
  
"Your dick?" Kyle says.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure it has been called that," Cartman says, rolling toward them with a grunt. "By you."  
  
"Actually that was your mom who said that," Kenny says.  
  
"Like I believe that," Cartman says, but he looks a little worried.  
  
"Seriously, though," Kyle says, wishing he could see the expression on Stan's face. "Kenny, if you want me to, I will."  
  
"Oh, Jesus," Stan says, and it's clear from his tone that he thinks Kyle is bluffing.  
  
"Kyle, you're such a slut," Cartman says. He drums his fingers on his belly, looking pensive. "I'll give you five bucks to suck mine, too."  
  
"I'm not doing it for money," Kyle says, glowering at him. "That's not the point."  
  
"I think we all know what the point is," Stan says.  
  
"Do we?" Kenny is thumbing the button on his jeans. Kyle has always been a little curious about his friends' dicks. Even Cartman's, though that curiosity is of the morbid variety.  
  
"The point," Kyle says. "Is self-perceptions of power."  
  
He took a course called Empowerment Theory and Practice during his spring semester, and he loved it. Growing up, he'd often felt helpless and marginalized, always at the mercy of Stan's willingness to include him in things, something he was afraid would eventually dry up. The idea that he can decide how much power he has _himself_ is exhilarating, and the thought of applying these concepts to sex has been making him hard since January.  
  
"Power," Kenny says, opening his jeans. "I'm into that. Cool."  
  
"You're into anything you can fit your dick in," Cartman says. "Fine, Kyle, don't pay me, but if you're going to suck Kenny you should do me, too."  
  
"Why?" Stan asks, finally sitting up. "Why is -- Kenny, stop! Put your pants back on!"  
  
"No, don't," Kyle says, reaching over to touch Kenny's bare thigh. "I've been wanting to experiment with this, really, and I trust you guys."  
  
"Experiment with _what_?" Stan asks, standing. He's shirtless, wearing only a sagging pair of swim trunks. At some point they'd had vague plans to go to the neighborhood pool. "Kyle, stop," Stan says when Kyle rubs Kenny's thigh, eyeing the growing bulge in his briefs. "You don't have to do this."  
  
"I know," Kyle says. "That's the point. I can choose to become a submissive vessel for the desires of others. That's empowerment, Stanley. Not that you'd understand."  
  
"This is some kind of joke you guys are playing on me," Stan says, his voice growing hollow as Kyle runs his fingertips along the waistband of Kenny's briefs.  
  
"Sure, Stan," Cartman says, opening his pants. "Just go downstairs and keep telling yourself that. We'll be up here _joking_ with Kyle."  
  
"No!" Stan says, and he sounds so horrified that Kyle almost calls the whole thing off. He turns to Stan and frowns. "Kyle!" Stan says, huffing.  
  
"You can participate," Kyle says.  
  
"I'm not going to participate in them fucking you!" Stan says. "It's sick! Stop this right now!" His eyes are on Kenny's crotch, which Kyle has covered with his palm, lightly. He hasn't been with anyone in a month, not since the last time he had Stan. He's missed this feeling, the heat of a hard cock through cotton.  
  
"Why is it sick?" Kyle asks, feeling a hint of alarm low in his belly as Cartman crawls toward them, pants-less. "Didn't you and I agree that college is a time for open-minded exploration? Or was that just some bullshit you fed me so you could screw one of your groupies?"  
  
Stan says nothing, but the panic on his face hardens into anger.  
  
"So what's the deal?" Kenny asks. "Everyone's going to watch? I mean, not that I have a problem with that."  
  
"Is your ass up for grabs?" Cartman asks.  
  
"I'm not watching this shit," Stan says. "This is _fucked up_." He bolts for the door, and Kyle actually expects him to turn back, but he doesn't. He slams the door behind him on his way out.  
  
"Do you still want to do this if it's not just a show for Stan?" Kenny asks. He's very hard now, throbbing under Kyle's hand. Cartman is sitting back uncertainly, but he's got a predatory look in his eyes, pupils fat.  
  
"It was never a show for Stan," Kyle says, scoffing. "If I'm honest, you assholes have always made me small and gross when you make jokes about wanting to fuck me or have me suck your balls or whatever. Like there's something wrong with me for being the one who's, uh. Wanted. I want to turn that around. I want to feel, like, worshipped. From both ends." He glances at the door, hoping that Stan is eavesdropping. He didn't hear his footsteps on the stairs.  
  
"From both ends," Cartman says, salivating. "I get the ass end."  
  
"Dude," Kenny says, softly. "You really don't have to do this. To prove anything, I mean. I joke about wanting to fuck pretty much everybody. It's my schtick."  
  
"You don't say that shit about me," Cartman says. "'Cause you know I'd kick your ass."  
  
"No," Kenny says. "You just don't deserve the pleasure of my dick. Even jokingly."  
  
"I don't want the pleasure of your stupid dick!" Cartman says, and Kyle starts laughing nervously. He's not hard, but this isn't about his own arousal, necessarily. It's about theories of empowerment. It's got nothing to do with the fact that Stan might be standing outside the door, listening, tears stinging his eyes as he regrets everything he's done since they left for college.  
  
"Stop fighting," Kyle says. "If we're going to do this, I want it to be calm."  
  
They both stare at him like they're not sure what he means by that. Kyle sighs and moves between Kenny's legs.  
  
"Oh, Jesus," Kenny says when Kyle bends down to mouth at him through his underwear. Cartman makes a whimpery sound and touches Kyle's ass. Kyle is still fully dressed, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He doesn't like being naked in front of anyone, with the exception of Stan. He didn't undress for any of his other partners, just pulled his pants down enough to allow access.  
  
"Well, I just realized something!" Stan says, bursting through the door. His face is red, and he looks disgusted when he sees their positions. "This is my room!"  
  
"So?" Cartman says. His palm is still glued to the seat of Kyle's pants, and Kyle ends up sitting on his hand. "We can go elsewhere if we need to."  
  
"No," Stan says, deflating a little. He shuts the door behind him. "No way. You're not taking him to your basement, Cartman, so fucking forget it."  
  
"Okay," Kenny says. "So, what? You decided to watch after all?"  
  
"Yes," Stan says, crossing his arms over his chest. He leans back against the door. "Because I don't believe he'll go through with it."  
  
"Ha!" Kyle says. "You consistently underestimate me."  
  
"How am I underestimating you by believing you're above letting your friends fuck you out of boredom?" Stan asks. "Or a grudge, or whatever this is."  
  
"I hold no grudges," Kyle says, and he shakes his head. His hands have begun to tremble. "Your attitudes about sex are really primitive, Stan. I thought you had grown up a little."  
  
"Obviously you have," Stan says, with such disgust that Kyle feels it reverberate in his chest like a shockwave. He turns back to Kenny's cock, trying to remember what he was doing. Right: sucking it, sort of.  
  
"Up on your knees again, Jew," Cartman says, wiggling his fingers under Kyle's bottom. Kyle turns to glare at him.  
  
"As the person who is choosing to -- be empowered," he says, his understanding of the concept faltering a bit under Stan's angry gaze, "You are not allowed to use ethnic slurs. I'll throw you right out of here if you call me that again."  
  
"Fine, fine," Cartman says. "I didn't even mean it like that."  
  
"Your intent doesn't matter," Kyle says. He turns back to Kenny. "Take your underwear off."  
  
"Oh, God," Stan says, and Kyle can't decide if he sounds more fearful or furious.  
  
"No comments from the audience, please," Cartman says, and he moans appreciatively when Kyle lifts his ass so he can squeeze it.  
  
"Whoa," Kyle says when Kenny's cock is unleashed, and he actually feels badly, because Stan will think he's impressed. Kenny is impressively long, but his cock is pretty ugly, like a blunt instrument. It has none of the well-proportioned finesse of Stan's.  
  
"Damn, Ken," Cartman says, peeking over Kyle's shoulder. "Are you half black or something?"  
  
"Okay, no," Kyle says. "Cartman, goddammit. I said no ethnic slurs. That's strike two. One more and you're gone."  
  
"What!" Cartman is still holding Kyle's left ass cheek, and he squeezes it hard to emphasize his outrage. "That wasn't even about you! And it wasn't a slur! Black guys have big dicks, okay? Have you not seen porn?"  
  
"That's an offensive stereotype," Kyle says, partially distracted by the fact that Kenny is stroking himself now. There's no way even half this monster will fit in Kyle's mouth. Stan has gone quiet, and Kyle is afraid to look at him, because if he's crying or something the whole thing will have to end abruptly. "And it's also an inaccurate generalization," Kyle says. "I've been with a black guy, at college. He was average. Same size as me, more or less."  
  
"What?" Stan says, softly. "Who?"  
  
"You don't know him," Kyle says, peeking at Stan. He's not crying, but he's openly devastated, his hands hanging limply at his sides. "But if you deigned to use Facebook like us mere mortals you would have seen that he was a freshman business major who I was in a relationship with for two months."  
  
"Boring!" Cartman bellows. "Can I take your underwear off?" he asks, pulling at the waistband of Kyle's boxers, which is peeking up over his jeans.  
  
"Not yet," Kyle says, wriggling out of his grip. "Let me focus on what I'm doing. I need to get in the proper mindset."  
  
"This is insane," Stan says. He's quiet while Kyle studies Kenny's cock, trying to decide on the best course of action. It isn't an appetizing cock at all. There's a big, wormy vein on the underside, and it curves toward Kenny's stomach in a way that Kyle finds creepy. He has to remind himself that this experience is not necessarily about his own arousal.  
  
"Two months?" Stan says, and Kyle turns to frown at him, glad for the excuse to look away from Kenny's beastly dick. "You dated someone for two months and didn't even -- tell me, or--"  
  
"You don't tell me about your relationships," Kyle says. "Or conquests, if that's more appropriate. And it wasn't a secret, it was right there on Facebook. And it wasn't serious," he adds, putting his ass on the floor again. "And he was completely dull. A business major, like I said."  
  
"So why'd you date him for two months if he was so dull?" Stan asks. Kenny groans.  
  
"Well, he was attractive," Kyle says, pleased by the question. He's wanted Stan to grill him about his partners so badly. "And a very nice guy, and--"  
  
"Was he good in bed?" Stan asks. "Because obviously that's important to you."  
  
"Why shouldn't it be?" Kyle says, glaring at him. He lifts his ass and points it toward Cartman. "Remove my pants," he says. "And underwear. I desire anal pleasure now. Which does not make me a slut."  
  
"I didn't say that!" Stan says. "Just -- what is this? Who are you? I don't know this person."  
  
"I am someone who's been liberated from attempting to fit into a heteronormative lifestyle as a homosexual man," Kyle says.  
  
"Ew," Cartman says, yanking Kyle's pants and underwear down in one tug. "Don't call yourself a homosexual man."  
  
"Why the hell not?" Kyle asks.  
  
"Because it sounds gross," Cartman says. Kenny laughs.  
  
"It does sound kind of gross," he says. "Maybe the 'man' part more than the other."  
  
"What the hell is wrong with you two?" Kyle asks. He reaches back to slap Cartman's hand away when he pries Kyle's ass cheeks apart with his thumb and forefinger. "Cartman, you're ogling my butt. Kenny, this was all your idea. If you two aren't comfortable with your bisexual leanings or whatever the hell they are, well -- I guess that's just something a lot of people in this town have in common. Not me!"  
  
"I didn't mean to liberate you!" Stan says, punching the door, and they all turn to look at him. "So don't call it that! And this was all _your_ idea, okay?"  
  
"No," Kyle says, slapping Cartman's hand away again. "It was Kenny's. He said, 'Kyle, if you're bored, why don't you--'"  
  
"I don't mean this fucked up shit right here!" Stan says. "I meant the -- other people. At college. You wanted that, not me!"  
  
"What!" Livid, Kyle shoves Cartman away entirely, and he lands hard on his ass. Kyle sits up on his knees, letting his pants and boxers sag around his thighs. "Not true!"  
  
"Yes huh it's true!" Stan says, walking forward. "It was Thanksgiving break, freshman year, we had just fucked for the first time in three months, and I was so happy, Kyle, holding you, right there." He points to the bed. Kenny sighs heavily and starts jacking his dick again.  
  
"Yes, and you said maybe we should see other people, to see what it's like," Kyle says. He remembers it clearly. It was like being pushed down a well.  
  
"No!" Stan says. He grabs Kyle by the elbows and pulls him up, causing his pants and underwear to fall to his ankles. "You asked me if I'd been with anyone else. And I was freaked the fuck out, because I thought you were about to tell me that you had. And I said no, and you said, 'Were you tempted?' and I said no, and you thought I was lying, and it all went downhill from there. Suddenly we were agreeing to fuck other people. The whole thing was like this fucking helicopter crash, but you were so _calm_ , like it was this reasoned decision you'd made--"  
  
"Don't put it all on me!" Kyle says, jabbing his finger at Stan. "If you were really upset about the idea, you could have said no!"  
  
"So you were just testing me?" Stan says. "That's sick. You mean so much more to me than that. So much more than this!" He gestures to Kenny and Cartman, who are still holding their boners hopefully. "I thought you felt the same way about me," Stan says, and he walks back toward the door, pushing his hair off his face with both hands.  
  
"Maybe we should go," Kenny says when Kyle stands there staring at Stan, pants-less, his soft cock hanging under the hem of his t-shirt.  
  
"What!" Cartman says. "No - listen, Kyle, you still want to get, uh, power from me fucking you, right? Right? My cock's like half the size of Kenny's, see? It won't even hurt!"  
  
"You did it, though," Kyle says to Stan. "With other people."  
  
"Well, yeah!" Stan says, turning to him. "I thought I had to, you know, it was like this assignment you'd given me, go out and find yourself, Stanley, you naive hick."  
  
"No!" Kyle says. "Bullshit! Some part of you wanted to! I could see it!"  
  
"Of course I wanted sex!" Stan says. "I thought about it constantly, and I was miserable without it, but it was you I wanted! You were the one I was thinking about."  
  
"But you did it with other people as soon as you had permission," Kyle says, tugging his shirt down. Kenny is sighing and putting his pants back on, his cock softening against his stomach. Cartman is still hard, whining like his birthday presents were just immolated.  
  
"I did it with some girls," Stan says, shrugging. "It was fine, but it wasn't the same as -- you. Us. And I tried guys, but they smell bad, and they just want to fuck my ass, and I don't trust them with it, or, I don't know, maybe I was saving it for you, if you wanted to, some time--"  
  
"Alright," Kenny says, standing. "I'm out of here. This is anti-porn."  
  
"Nuu!" Cartman says. "C'mon, Kyle, to hell with Stan! He cheated on you!" Cartman sits back on his knees, his cock finally beginning to get soft. Kyle darts a look at it to satisfy his curiosity: small and fat, it's actually more appetizing than Kenny's, sucking-wise, but Kyle hates the thought of the sweaty, fast food stench between Cartman's legs.  
  
"It wasn't cheating," Kyle says. "We had rules."  
  
"It felt like cheating," Stan says, starting to cry. "And I feel like you cheated on me with this -- this business major. Who else -- was there anybody else?"  
  
"One of my professors," Kyle says, a little proud of this until he sees Stan's eyes go wide with horror.  
  
"Oh, God," Stan says. "Some old guy?"  
  
"He wasn't old! He was thirty-five!"  
  
"That's super fucking old, dude! Did he -- oh, my God. Did he fuck you? That old bastard? That's illegal!"  
  
"No, it's not!" Kyle is actually thrilled that they're finally talking about this, and that Stan is so upset, but it hurts, too, seeing him in obvious pain. "We were two consenting adults!"  
  
"He's in a position of power," Stan says. "It's not right! Oh, fuck, is this the asshole who filled you full of shit about how sucking dick is empowering?"  
  
"No, r-tard, and way to totally misunderstand what I was trying to say! The guy who fucked me was my British Literature teacher, alright?"  
  
"Disgusting!" Stan says, screaming now. Kenny moans and heads for the door. Cartman is mournfully tucking his cock back into his pants. It looks rather pathetic when it's soft, like a kid's.  
  
"You know what I think is disgusting?" Kyle says, remembering that his pants are around his ankles only when he tries to walk toward Stan. "The fact that you're still trying to fuck girls when you're so obviously gay, and that you act like you're doing me, this actually gay guy, some kind of straight bro favor by boning me--"  
  
" _What_?" Stan says, and Kyle flinches at the volume of his voice. "What the _fuck_?"  
  
"Okay, screw this," Cartman says, and he scampers out of the room, still doing up his pants.  
  
"You won't even call yourself bisexual!" Kyle says, and he's shouting now, too, glad that no one else is home. "You told me you 'don't like that word.'"  
  
"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I don't feel like I need some kind of label for myself!" Stan says. "I thought you could relate, since you're so above such things in your world of sexual empowerment."  
  
"You were always ashamed of what we did together!" Kyle says. "That's why you didn't want to be 'bisexual,' _necessarily_ , and certainly not gay, because that would make you like me, and you have zero respect for me, none, so why shouldn't I let you watch Cartman and Kenny get off on me? That's all you think I'm good for, right?"  
  
"Kyle, no," Stan says, starting to cry again. "What'd I do to make you think that?"  
  
"Got off on me," Kyle says. His voice is beginning to waver, too, mostly from the sight of Stan's pinched-up face. "And kept me a secret, and jumped at the chance to fuck other people in college, and didn't even attempt to convince me to come to Arizona with you--"  
  
"It's not as good as your school!" Stan says. "Of course I wanted you with me, but I didn't want to be selfish, and I didn't say anything about how upset I was about going to different schools because I didn't want to make you feel guilty or something."  
  
"Whatever," Kyle says. He wipes the corner of his eye and turns toward Stan's bed. Just last night Stan had tried to kiss him on that bed, after they'd talked for hours about nothing in particular, and Kyle had pushed him away. He'd wanted it so badly, but not enough to lower himself to being convenient for Stan.  
  
"How could you do it?" Stan asks, grabbing Kyle and spinning him around. "How could you let someone else do -- what we do?"  
  
"How could you?" Kyle asks, furious. "With some _girl_?"  
  
"It's not the same!"  
  
"Oh, right, sorry, because you're not working your dick into the same manner of hole. Of course, that totally negates the intimacy."  
  
"Stop it!" Stan says, shaking him. "You know what I mean! I don't want you be close to another guy. Girls don't count."  
  
"That's a really sexist, horrible thing to say. Why not, because they're not as capable of--"  
  
"Because we're gay!" Stan says. "You and me. We're gay together, Kyle. When I'm with you, I want to be gay with you. There, okay, fucker? Happy?"  
  
"No," Kyle says. "Why are you still fucking around with girls if you're so secure in your gayness?"  
  
"Because I'm not! Because I'm scared and confused and stupid and uneducated--"  
  
"Stan--"  
  
"But when I'm with you, it doesn't matter," Stan says. "That's when I feel secure. When I used, to anyway. Now I don't know what the hell to feel." He lets go of Kyle's arms and moves toward the bed. "I feel sad, mostly," he says, dropping down onto it.  
  
"Everything's fucked," Kyle says, staring at Stan. "And apparently it's my fault."  
  
"It's not your fault," Stan says. He's lying face down on his bed, his voice muffled by his pillow. "I made you feel like shit because I didn't come out. Or whatever. I'm sorry."  
  
"I didn't come out, either," Kyle says. He steps out his pants and underwear and sits on the bed. "But, I mean. I would have, if you had. I guess I wanted you to help me have the courage to do it. Which isn't fair. I just always thought you were the brave one."  
  
"Why?" Stan asks, giving him an incredulous look. Kyle shrugs.  
  
"Football?" he says. Stan moans and hides his face again.  
  
For a while they just sit there like that, Kyle staring at the spot on the floor where he almost put his mouth on Kenny's dick. He reaches over to palm Stan's ass.  
  
"Did you notice how kind of scary Kenny's penis is?" Kyle asks. Stan huffs into the pillow.  
  
"Big," he says. "You mean."  
  
"No -- well, yes, but also, just. Unattractive. Like, okay. If your dick was a food, it would be a perfect piece of bluefin sashimi."  
  
"What the hell is that?" Stan asks, peeking at him.  
  
"Sashimi, you know -- sushi without the rice! You've never had it?"  
  
"No. I guess my thirty-five year old boyfriends aren't taking me to the right restaurants."  
  
"Ha." Kyle narrows his eyes. "Shut up, I'm trying to compliment you. Okay, sashimi -- it's completely visually appealing, beautiful in its simplicity, and also delicious, like, the meat just melts in your mouth."  
  
Stan snickers, a major victory. Kyle smiles at him.  
  
"It's form and function, perfectly in sync," Kyle says. "And once you know how good it tastes, your mouth waters at the sight of it. That's your dick, Stan. And this isn't just my opinion. Well, it is, but I would suggest that it's an objectively perfect cock. Whereas Kenny's, if it was a food, it would be like, a greasy, triple-decker cheeseburger with two Krispy Kreme donuts for a bun, loaded with mayo and grilled onions. Which is also a thing they have in Blacksberg, at this diner, and you get your name on a plaque if you manage to actually choke the whole thing down. That's Kenny's dick. At first you're like, 'whoa, that's crazy, something that outrageous actually exists?' But do you actually want to put it in your mouth? Let alone your ass? Hell no!"  
  
Stan is laughing hard now, bouncing against his pillow as he tries to conceal it. Kyle grins and leans down to hug him. He buries his face against the back of Stan's neck, pleasure fluttering from the base of his skull and all the way down the backs of his legs when he smells Stan's skin, his toes curling inside his socks. He's gotten a little hard just from talking about Stan's dick.  
  
"So what's Cartman's?" Stan asks, turning his face toward Kyle when he nuzzles Stan's cheek.  
  
"An undercooked pierogi," Kyle says, and Stan laughs even harder, pressing back into the curve of Kyle's body.  
  
"You were not really going to let him fuck you?" Stan asks. "Right?"  
  
"I don't know," Kyle says. "If you'd just left -- I might have felt low enough to do it."  
  
"Dude, what! Don't let whatever I do dictate your, uh, sex decisions. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."  
  
"Me either," Kyle says. "I just wish I did. I wish I could decide that I knew, or that all of my decisions are right because there's no right or wrong, or something. But the only thing that ever felt right was you. I wouldn't even take off my clothes for Josh."  
  
"Josh?" Stan says, turning.  
  
"The business major."  
  
"How about the professor? Did you. For him?"  
  
"Oh, hell no," Kyle says. "That barely counted. He invited me to a faculty party because he thought I'd be an easy lay, and I was. That was the end of the semester, and he never called."  
  
"That dick," Stan says, rolling over to face him. "I'll kick his ass."  
  
"Aren't you glad he didn't call me?" Kyle asks, smiling.  
  
"Well, yeah. But he thought you were an easy lay? Fuck that. Fuck him. I hate that anyone else touched you."  
  
"I hate being away from you," Kyle says, threading his fingers through Stan's hair as they lock together in their old familiar way, legs tangling and foreheads touching. "I need you, Stan. And that makes me feel weak. I've always needed you for, like. Basic survival."  
  
"Don't feel weak," Stan says. "I don't want you to feel that way."  
  
"It feels good, though, sometimes," Kyle says softly, rubbing his cock on Stan's swim trunks. "When I'm with you. Like now."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Mhmm."  
  
Stan slides his hands up under Kyle's shirt, stroking his sweaty back with one hand while he touches Kyle's chest with the other. He tweaks a nipple and smiles when Kyle makes a sound that's neither encouragement nor protest.  
  
"Yeah, see, this is what you were talking about, sorta," Stan says. "I think. Like, you don't have to see it as weakness. If you're with the right kind of person, who really respects you, it's more like trust."  
  
"I trust you," Kyle says, humping Stan's thigh more vigorously. "Stan, you -- I always wanted to surrender to you. Completely."  
  
"Well. You have stuck your ass in the air and let me put my dick in, so I'd say you have."  
  
"No, asshole," Kyle says, smacking Stan's arm. Stan grins, and Kyle supposes he deserved that. "I mean emotionally. You know? Never mind, I sound like an idiot."  
  
"You don't," Stan says. He's still teasing Kyle's nipples, making them hard despite the heat. "I want that, too. I want you to trust me. Like, close your eyes."  
  
"Yeah?" Kyle says, twitching. He's always thought of Stan as the opposite of kinky. Stan likes blow jobs, rough sex, and cuddling. In that order, nothing fancy.  
  
"Yeah, close 'em," Stan says, and Kyle obeys. It does feel good, so nice, lying on his back and letting Stan peel off his shirt. He doesn't need to tell himself to surrender. It just happens, and he laughs when Stan blows on his nipples.  
  
"What?" Stan says.  
  
"Nothing." Kyle leaves his eyes closed. "Feels good, you're fine."  
  
Stan grunts and reaches up to pull Kyle's arms over his head, gently, crossing them at the wrists. Kyle fidgets happily when Stan winds the blankets around his wrists.  
  
"Are you tying me up?" Kyle asks.  
  
"Maybe," Stan says. "Is that okay?"  
  
"Hmm, yeah." Kyle flexes against the bonds. They're secure but not too tight. He grins when Stan slips a blindfold over his eyes and lifts his head to cinch it into place. "What is that?" Kyle asks. "It smells like you."  
  
"The tie I wore to your birthday dinner," Stan says.  
  
"Aw," Kyle says. They'd just gotten home from college, and Stan had taken him out to a nice seafood place. Kyle had been in a mood, anticipating another summer of sex with Stan before they were ripped back into their separate worlds, but Stan was sweet and patient, and he had Kyle naked by midnight.  
  
"Now," Stan says. He's breathing a little hard. Kyle plans to take the blindfold off eventually, because he wants to see Stan's cock. Part of the experience is the lovely visual, and he'll appreciate it more than ever now that he's been exposed to a total of five inferior dicks.  
  
"Where'd you go?" Kyle asks, writhing.  
  
"I'm just looking at you for a minute," Stan says. "If that's okay."  
  
"You don't have to ask about what's okay," Kyle says. "I'll tell you if something isn't."  
  
"Alright, good. I mean, thanks."  
  
They both laugh nervously, and Kyle hears the velcro on the front of Stan's swim trunks coming apart. He moans when Stan drapes himself over him, pressing their naked cocks together. It's been over a month since they kissed, and Kyle wraps his legs around Stan's back while they make out lazily, speaking their wordless kiss-language into each other's mouths. Every time Kyle moans Stan answers with a grunt, and to Kyle it's always felt like talking, like, _That's so good_ and _I know_.  
  
"I missed you," Kyle says when Stan pulls back. He wants to see Stan's face, but he almost doesn't need to. They've done this so many times, and Kyle can clearly envision Stan's wet lips and the blush high on his cheeks. He's more aware of Stan's breathing that he usually is, quick and warm against his face, and it makes him shiver.  
  
"I tried, last night," Stan says, apparently still sore about that. "You were looking at me like you -- wanted me."  
  
"You know I did. I always do."  
  
"So why do you have to make it so hard?"  
  
"Because it shouldn't always be so easy!" Kyle says, getting tense underneath him. "I've made it so easy for you. Before now."  
  
"You're punishing me for how well we fit together?" Stan puts his hands over Kyle's bound wrists and pins them down when he flexes. "Stay still," he says, softly but not particularly kindly, and Kyle shivers again.  
  
"I never made you chase me," Kyle says. "Not even a little bit. Wendy did. She was good at that."  
  
"Not this Wendy shit."  
  
"Yes, this Wendy shit. She was the _girl_ you loved, Stan. That was sacred and sanctioned and everybody knew. I was your dirty secret, just this guy sitting next to you on the couch playing video games, the one you knew would open his legs when you reached over to rub his dick."  
  
"Goddamn," Stan says. "I didn't just grab your dick one day."  
  
"You basically did."  
  
"I kissed you!" Stan says, pressing his palms more firmly to Kyle's. "And we weren't playing video games, we were--"  
  
"I remember where we were when you first kissed me, Stanley."  
  
They were fifteen, walking together on Halloween night. They'd trick or treated earlier, like babies. Kenny and Cartman had talked them into it, and they felt kind of stupid afterward, sorting their candy together like they had since they were eight. Kyle couldn't gorge on it like the others did, and Cartman made fun of him for this, as was tradition. Randomly, as they were walking back to Kyle's house, Stan took his hand.  
  
"What?" was all Kyle had managed to say when Stan held it as they walked, looking at the ground.  
  
"Nothing." Stan was flushed, but it was cold out, so Kyle wasn't sure-- "You just look a little down."  
  
They walked all the way to Kyle's house that way, holding hands, avoiding each other's eyes. Kyle was still wearing his Halloween costume, a half-assed vampire cape and red bow tie. He'd taken his fangs out hours ago. Stan was wearing his grandpa's old military uniform. He smelled like moth balls, and his hand was sweaty, though it was barely twenty degrees out. The uniform was too big for Stan, but he'd worn it every year since his grandfather died. Sometimes he wore the jacket to school when it wasn't Halloween.  
  
"You should have a hat," Kyle said, feeling uncomfortable with their hand-holding and thinking about how cute Stan would look in an aviator's cap, and Stan stopped walking, grabbed Kyle's face with his free hand and kissed him.  
  
"Peanut butter cups," was all he said when he pulled back, because Kyle had eaten some earlier. Kyle stared at him, stunned, then pulled him along to his house and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he fell on Stan without saying a word, his face very hot.  
  
"Why that night?" Kyle asks now. They've never had much discussion about that, or any other aspect of their relationship.  
  
Stan puts his thumbs under the blindfold and slides it up so that Kyle can see him.  
  
"Wearing that uniform always made me think about how short life was," he says. "And everything that can go wrong. I didn't want to lose you."  
  
"You weren't losing me," Kyle says, confused.  
  
"Yeah, I was," Stan says. "Every day that I wanted to kiss you and didn't, I was losing you."  
  
"Oh," Kyle says. He loops his tied arms around Stan's neck and pulls him closer. "Do you still feel that way?" he asks. "Is that why you tried to kiss me last night?"  
  
"Yes," Stan says, lowering his eyes shyly, and Kyle arches up to kiss him, his legs tightening around Stan's back. "And then," Stan says when they're both breathless, squirming against each other. "What you were going to do with them. I thought I'd ruined you."  
  
"You don't have the power to ruin me," Kyle says. "Or to decide that I'm ruined, I guess. Only I do."  
  
"Well, don't do it. Don't decide that."  
  
Kyle thought the fact that Stan wanted to tie his hands would equate to even rougher sex than the kind they usually like, but they're gentle and cautious with each other as they move through the familiar stages, and Kyle feels like he did for the first few months of their sexual adventures together, as if Stan is afraid he'll break. Today, he doesn't mind it, and he doesn't moan and tell Stan to make him raw or any of the other dirty things that they usually get off on. He gasps into Stan's mouth and squeezes around his cock in ecstatic pulses, throwing back his head and reveling in the feeling of Stan inside him, that perfect fit, the length and width and heat of him just exactly what Kyle has needed so badly.  
  
"Come on my chest," Kyle says when he knows Stan is close, his eyes blurring with building pleasure. "Please, dude, and my stomach, come all over me."  
  
Stan moans and pulls out just in time to do so. Kyle has already finished, and his chest is sticky with his own seed, but he never comes as much or as beautifully as Stan does, and they both groan when Kyle yanks his hands from their loosened bonds to drag his fingers through the mess, spreading it all over himself.  
  
"Fuck," Stan cries, and he falls onto Kyle, gluing their bodies together. They roll around kissing, pawing at each other in an agitated fashion, as if they've just now been allowed to touch. Kyle's hands are sticky, and he thinks about this only after he's pushed them into Stan's hair.  
  
"Oh, ew," Kyle says. "Sorry."  
  
"Suddenly it's gross?" Stan says, smiling. "A few seconds ago you were smearing it all over yourself like you couldn't get enough."  
  
"It's different when it's warm," Kyle says, and he feels himself blushing. "And the texture doesn't really go with hair."  
  
"Was my sushi dick as good as you remembered?" Stan asks. He's smug, knowing the answer, because Kyle had jerked himself to completion almost as soon as Stan was all in.  
  
"Yeah," Kyle says. "But it's not a sushi dick. It's bluefin tuna."  
  
"Okay," Stan says. "I'll get a tattoo of a fish on there, then."  
  
"No, please!" Kyle says, and he reaches for Stan's spent cock protectively, cupping it in his palm. "Don't mar this with anything unnatural. It's perfect."  
  
"You realize I'm going to send you a bunch of cell phone pictures of my dick when we go back to school," Stan says. He sits up on his elbow and cleans some stray come from the side of Kyle's neck. "You're going to run out of memory on your phone. From all the pictures. Of my cock."  
  
"It's not the same," Kyle says, his good mood dampened. "And, hey, you know what I liked? I liked being able to talk about other guys' dicks with you. I liked that we could laugh about that."  
  
"What are you saying?" Stan asks. "You want to keep looking at a variety of dicks?"  
  
"No," Kyle says. "Or, maybe. We could try porn, how's that? Like a book club, only we review porn and share our thoughts. But that would get boring fast, all those guys look the same. Look, like -- we've got two more years of college. I guess I just -- if stuff happens with other people, I want us to be able to talk about it without me freaking out or you feeling like you're losing me."  
  
"Are you kidding me?" Stan says, sitting up. "We're having this conversation again? After all that?"  
  
"It's not the same conversation!"  
  
"I don't want other people, Kyle!" Stan says. "Do I need to get all poetic about the perfection of your asshole or something? Because I will! I've only had one other -- guy's ass, Jesus -- and it felt like a freaking butt, like, gross. Yours feels like -- like --" He punches the bedspread. "I'm not as good at this as you!"  
  
"Stan, stop." Kyle sits up, too, drawing Stan to him. "I don't want anyone else, either. That's the point. We're stuck, but whatever dumb things we do with other people out of desperation, they're never going to mean anything. So we need to talk about them, if they do happen, so that there's no mystery. We can laugh about how much it sucks to be with other people. Then, when we graduate, we'll never be apart again."  
  
"I don't care what you say," Stan says. "I'm waiting for you this time."  
  
"I'm not testing you!" Kyle says. "I know I have your heart. I don't think I understood that I did until you talked about -- that night. Your grandpa's uniform. But if I know I have that, I can wait to have your body all to myself. At least as long as you don't get some STD. Then I'll just kill you."  
  
"I don't like this," Stan says. "This feels weird. I want to be with you, only you, Kyle."  
  
"I know, and you will be. Come here."  
  
Kyle draws Stan down to the pillow and holds him while he huffs and fidgets, one hand closed tightly over Kyle's hip. Kyle isn't sure that he's right about this approach, but he doesn't feel wrong.  
  
"Tell me about the guy whose ass you had," Kyle says. He wants to soothe his fingers through Stan's hair, but they're all crusty, and Stan's hair is, too.  
  
"He was just some dick from my Medieval History class," Stan says. "He sat behind me. He was cute. We boned. He wanted to have a football player for a boyfriend, he got off on that. But I didn't want a boyfriend. Not him, anyway."  
  
"And his dick?" Kyle says.  
  
"What is this dick obsession?" Stan says, and then he laughs at himself. "No, okay, I get it. I like dicks, too. They interest me. Clearly. But his dick, um. Let's see. Overly pink. Thinnish. Weirdly sparse ball hair."  
  
"I don't have that problem," Kyle says, touching his self-consciously. He needs to trim. Stan brushes his fingers through Kyle's pubes and moans, tugging on some.  
  
"That's another thing," Stan says. "I hate how guys are hairy, except for you, because yours is this flaming red color, and it's hot. But you're not a ginger. Everybody else who has arm hair like yours is some creepy ass ginger kid. Kyle, I hate everything that isn't you. What do you want from me?"  
  
"I want us to spend our lives together," Kyle says. "Our real lives, after college."  
  
"Obviously," Stan says. "I can't wait to live with you," he says, squeezing Kyle closer. "And sleep with you every night. Fuck, Kyle, I've been in hell since June. I was afraid you wouldn't come back to me, ever."  
  
"You should tell me when you're afraid like that," Kyle says. "'Cause I just thought you were pissed off that you weren't getting laid. And in the future, you know, if I'm upset with you or I have some irrational suspicion like that, I'll tell you instead of, like. Attempting to suck Kenny's nasty dick."  
  
"That burger you described sounded kind of good to me," Stan says. "Maybe without the mayo. And maybe a double decker instead of triple."  
  
"You can try one when you come to Blacksberg to visit me," Kyle says, smiling at the thought of Stan at that diner, with that burger on his plate. "But you have to eat the whole thing, unaltered, to get your name on the plaque."  
  
"That's what Kenny told Cartman's mom," Stan says, and they both laugh until they hear a noise from downstairs.  
  
"What's that?" Kyle asks, sitting up. "Are your parents home?"  
  
"No way, dude, they're both at work until tonight. Do you think it's Kenny or something?"  
  
"Possibly," Kyle says. "Or Cartman, still holding out hope for my ass."  
  
"He touches your ass again over my dead body," Stan says. "Or his, more likely."  
  
"Was that your plan?" Kyle asks, grinning as he watches Stan slide his swim trunks on over his bare dick, his hair still sticking up at odd angles, styled with come. "If I wasn't actually bluffing were you going to cut out the middleman and just kill Cartman?"  
  
"Probably," Stan says. He leans down to kiss Kyle. "Cover yourself, my love," he says. "I'll go investigate the first floor."  
  
He goes, and Kyle wriggles around under the blankets, wanting a shower. He hears Stan talking to someone on the first floor, then a door slams. Stan jogs up the stairs and rolls his eyes when he comes through the bedroom door.  
  
"It _was_ Cartman," Stan says. "He went to Taco Bell, got nachos, and came back to 'see how things were going.' I threw him out. And now my family room smells like greasy beef."  
  
"I smell like greasy beef, too, I think," Kyle says, throwing the blankets off. "Let's take a shower, yeah?"  
  
They do, and they end up at the pool after all. Kenny is there, too, working a lifeguard shift. He salutes them, and seems happy to see that they're together. Kyle takes a spot in the shade and props his magazine against his knees. It's a _Harpers_ that he picked up at the airport on the way home from Virginia and still hasn't made it all the way through. He reads the interesting or funny parts to Stan, who is just outside the line of shade, roasting himself. Stan is already quite tan and looking particularly sated, and Kyle doesn't want to gawk, but he keeps getting distracted.  
  
"What?" Stan says when he catches Kyle looking.  
  
"Peanut butter cups," Kyle says, and Stan grins. It's what they always say when they don't know how to put whatever they're feeling into words, and what they're feeling is usually something like, _I love you, you're perfect, don't ever change_. Kyle doesn't feel empowered, really. He feels completely enslaved, but he can live with being at Stan's mercy. He's a pretty merciful guy.


End file.
